It's always a treat to go out for dinner, but if the dining experience doesn't live up to the hype, that treat can turn sour very quickly. Bad waiters, testy managers, and even grand theft auto kept these people from enjoying their night out, but at least they got some good stories out of it!
It All Ends With A Ride In The Back Of A Cop Car
“This wasn’t the restaurant’s fault, but it was the worst dining experience my husband and I have ever had.
We decided to go to a very nice steak house on a whim. Valet park the car and go in. Place our order, apps come out and are great. We see the manager and the seating host going to every table, but they look very concerned; not the typical, ‘How’s your meal?’ The manager gets to our table and he asks if we valet parked the car and we said yes. He then asks if it was a red Nissan. We said it was and I got a bad feeling when he said ‘was.’ He then asks us to follow him out front.
We get outside and there’s a cop car. I’m thinking someone hit my car or something. NOPE! Two kids hopped in my car and took off! Right from the valet. I was in total shock as this had never happened to me before and it was a crappy 2004 Nissan!
The manager and head valet were falling over themselves apologizing. We got a free meal and they offered to pay for a cab.
My husband goes inside to fill out some paperwork and I’m sitting outside in shock. The cop pulls back up and said, ‘We got ’em!’ We got to ride in the back of a cop car to pick up mine in the middle of the hood. Felt like the movie ‘Date Night’ for a while. At least we got a free meal and a good story out of it.
Still haven’t been back to the restaurant, though.”
The Old Razzle Dazzle
“We got scammed at a fake restaurant in Bologna. I can’t believe we fell for it. The place got me by looking all bohemian and rustic, so of course you think it’s a local place right? Plus it was off the beaten track. Usually these traps are right in a major tourist area.
Since it’s right outside our bed and breakfast, I make a reservation. I should have known something was up when he wanted a deposit. If this happens to you in Italy, run, don’t walk, towards the door. He’s afraid that you will hear the truth about the restaurant when you tell someone you are going there and that you won’t come for dinner.
Second warning sign – no prices anywhere. You are going to get hit with the idiot tax. And we did. Frozen entrees and old shellfish. I had the scariest spaghetti vongole ever – I swear the garlic was piled on to hide the stench of rotting seafood. My husband had an obviously frozen vegetable lasagna. The veggies for everything, including the antipasta, must have been weeks old. The portions were huge, and very, very bad. The waiters are sweet as pie, because they know it’s harder for you to complain when you are given a free drink here, a little extra dessert there. They know that you are on vacation and don’t want to cause a scene in a country where you don’t know the rules, and plus, you don’t want to ruin such a nice evening. Oh yeah, they ‘don’t speak English.’
Then you get the bill. It’s going to be double or triple any other place. Maybe quadruple. And there is nothing you can do. They may be getting their food from an illegal source, and you know that they are cheating on their taxes and relying on bribes to keep operating. So the police might even be on their side. You just pay that idiot tax and write a scathing review on Trip Advisor hoping that helps someone else.”
That’s One Way To Pick Up Chicks
“I was eating with a female friend at a reasonably nice restaurant. Not posh, but expensive. Before we were seated, we grabbed a drink at the bar; whilst there she signed up for some sort of newsletter at the bar. To be fair, it was stuff like this that made me apprehensive to call the place ‘posh.’
Anyways, we sit down and the girl I’m with gets a text telling her how beautiful she looks. She ignores it and another one comes through asking her what she’s doing later. She hasn’t got a clue who it is and ignores it.
We’re finishing up our meal and a 3rd text comes through saying she shouldn’t be with a guy like me and asking if she wanted dessert with a ‘real man.’
Now it’s clear someone in the restaurant has her number and we clocked that she had put it down on the application form for the newsletter. Considering the newsletters went into a box behind the bar, it was a member of staff. After getting the manager down and him calling the number and pegging what member of staff it was, it turned out one of the waiters had taken her number and address off this form, written it in his phone and had spent the evening taking pictures of her from behind the bar. The police ended up involved.”
Hot To The Touch
“A few years ago, I was at a Mexican restaurant with some friends. The waiter brings our food, and warns everyone that the plates are very, very hot. So, of course, the first thing I do is touch my plate.
I burn my thumb on the hot plate, and my automatic reaction is to stick it in my mouth so it will stop hurting. Just then, the woman at the next table starts yelling at her five-year-old son. ‘Stop sucking your thumb, Bobby! You’re a big boy, and big boys don’t suck their thumbs.’
The five-year-old points at me and screams, ‘They do, too! He sucks his thumb! Look! He sucks his thumb!’
Everyone in the restaurant turns to look at me, and I try to vanish behind my menu. My friends teased me about it for months.”
A Comedy Of Errors
“This waiter was so bad, it really just became funny.
1) 99%-100% certain he was very high during his shift.
2) He would just wander around aimlessly as we tried to get his attention. Start walking over to us, look over our heads as we tried to wave at him, and slowly turn and walk away.
3) When we ordered food, he brought the right dishes, but gave them to the wrong person, no big deal. As we are saying, ‘Oh, that one goes to him, etc.,’ he quickly apologizes, gathers the dishes, and starts walking away! We are almost screaming at him trying to get him to come back, but he keeps walking. Thankfully he came back five minutes later, with the same food. NO idea what happened. So hungry after being teased with the food, we didn’t even care if he spit in it.
4) When he came around for my next beer, I said, ‘Surprise me.’ This is a bar famous for having hundreds of beers. After 20 minutes, he brought me the same exact beer I just had. I was surprised!
5) Routinely brought us the wrong beers, not even close. Probably what another table ordered. But he took so long and it was so hard to get his attention, we started just drinking whatever we got.”
“Excuse Me, My Dinner Is Moving…”
“I was a small child, in a small town where the fanciest restaurant was a Ponderosa Steakhouse. One night, my parents decided that a fine meal was in order, so we made our way there.
If you’ve never been to a Ponderosa: imagine a middle-school cafeteria buffet dropped into a steakhouse that needed to be remodeled in the 70’s. The tables were plastic, the chairs were folding metal contraptions, the indoor-outdoor carpet had a disquieting green shimmer to it, and the blinds stayed shut so that you couldn’t quite see what you were eating.
My father was a quiet, unassuming man. I can count on one hand the times I saw him get angry. Dinner at the Ponderosa was one of those times, and it was the only time I ever heard him swear in public.
When we arrived, it was clear that everyone working there wished they were working somewhere else. The hostess was surly, and the waiter acted like he was doing us a favor by taking drink orders. But, hey, it’s a buffet/steakhouse, we weren’t there to make friends. We were there to eat until we regretted it.
We didn’t even get to eat a bite before we regretted it. My Dad and I went to the buffet, filled our plates (and one for mom), and returned to the table. I slid my fork into the mashed potatoes. I brought the fork to my mouth. I realized the pepper flakes were moving.
‘What the F—?!’
I dropped my fork. My Dad’s idea of harsh language was ‘gosh-durn.’ I’d never heard him lay down an f-bomb before, much less one fueled by that much rage, and it legit scared me. I was a small child. I began to cry. My father’s gaze was fixed on his green beans, which were also moving.
A waiter came over, with a manager in tow. They began very sternly reprimanding my father for using such language in a family restaurant, and informed him that his behavior would have to improve if we wanted to stay.
My father, who stood just shy of 6’9″, silently got to his feet and glared down at the suddenly quiet Ponderosa employees.
Sir,’ the manager started, much more respectfully this time.
‘There are ants in this food,’ my father interrupted him. ‘About a thousand ants.’
‘Sir,’ the manager started again.
‘We’re going to leave. We’re not going to pay. But first, you’re going to apologize to my family for trying to feed them this s—, and you’re going to apologize to me for speaking to me like that in front of my wife and son.’
By this point, everyone else in the restaurant (maybe four or five other families) had stopped eating and were either inspecting their food or watching this scene unfold. One guy got up and went to the buffet with a little pocket flashlight. He clicked it on, took a look at the food, clicked it back off, and began dry heaving.
The manager and waiter were frozen. Neither one was apologizing, and that was pissing my dad off worse.
‘Come on,’ my father said gesturing to my mother and I. The three of us walked out of the restaurant, with all of the other patrons following behind. The manager snapped out of his trance long enough to flip out and start shouting at everyone that they couldn’t leave without paying. Turns out they could.
The Ponderosa closed its doors forever later that week. It belongs to the ants now.”
Just One Wrong Step…
“We were in a restaurant/pub and ordered three beers. Well, if you want particular brand, you need to say it, otherwise you get the cheapest one. This is in Slovakia (Europe) and to order just beer in a pub is still prevalent from communism, where there were only a few state breweries, and they had the market divided. So you could get only one type of beer in each pub. Of course, we forgot and realized this when beers were ready. We could see that because we were on some kind of inside balcony and we could see the bar. Well, we were quite sad and disappointed. But as our server carried our beers on tray and walked to us, she slipped on 3rd or 4th step of stairs and face planted on stairs. Beer and glass exploded everywhere.
But this was not the worst thing.
Worst thing was my friend, who after one second of this happening, shouted a loud and joyful, ‘YES!’ He was happy that he can now order the beer he wanted. Of course, everyone heard him, so the rest of our stay was very awkward. Especially when we ordered new beers from that waitress. Needless to say, we left a nice tip…”
What Happens In Vegas…
“I was in Vegas for a convention. It was my first time spearheading a convention for a big client and I was understandably nervous. And frankly, I was going a bit overboard.
I wore my best suit, got a great haircut, and caught a flight out.
First thing when I land, I grab a cab and call up to make a lunch reservation at a restaurant attached to the hotel/convention center conglomerate thing because I knew I’d need a spot for a lunch meetings.
First half of the show goes really well. Clients are happy, my boss is happy, I’m still nervous, but I’m pretty happy. We break away for that meeting, and I lead everyone off to the lunch spot.
We get there and the place is only maybe at half-capacity. Not terribly surprising, since I’d assume many people eat at the Casino buffet…and this is pretty well confirmed by the fact that everyone eating in the place is dressed in business attire.
I give the name of the reservation and we get seated.
My first warning should have been that there was no silverware.
Okay, maybe they just bussed the table. We ponder this for a full minute before a guy rushes by and blurts out that he’s our waiter and will be right with us. Doesn’t stop, doesn’t give us menus, goes running over to a table entirely full of Business Bro’s. The sorts of guys who actively try and look like the cast of The Boiler Room. He’s fake-laughing with them, schmoozing for a better tip. Each and every one of them is done eating, most are even done with their drinks, so this kid is hovering like a vulture for them to get to signing their check and give him a fat reward for his sucking up.
Ten minutes go by. Still nothing. Fifteen.
Our waiter runs by and I try and stop him. He does a spin-maneuver like a wide receiver with the ball to avoid me. I’m honestly floored, and the clients start to make noises.
On his way back I’m turned around in my seat giving my best, ‘I will not be ignored’ look and he says, ‘One more minute!’ He says it angrily, like I’m the a–hole.
Five minutes later, someone comes out of the kitchen in whites to drop off our silverware (missing two settings) and two menus. For a group of six. And no napkins. I don’t blame him, he clearly got roped into this, but seriously?
So we look things over and we’ve now been waiting for more than 25 minutes. We have no water, we have no order in, we don’t have enough menus. I’m getting angrier and angrier (plus I haven’t eaten all day, so my brain is screaming bloody murder for sugar and protein). Our clients are obviously getting pissed, and I’m afraid I’m making the company look bad.
So we get up. I help the ladies with their things, and for the first time we get noticed. The kid breaks from the group he’s been schmoozing and literally runs over to us to block our egress. He plasters on a grin and says, ‘Can I help you?’
I simply said, ‘No,’ and directed my clients out. The server waves and signals…at first I thought he was gesturing us out.
Then I see who’s got to be the manager of the place waiting by the hostess’ desk. The manager blocks me, but he’s only one guy. I turn politely as I can to my clients and tell them to go on ahead…I’ll settle up here. I’ll be chivalrous.
The manager is red in the face, and obviously trying to hold himself back from yelling at someone. He asks through gritted teeth, ‘Was there something wrong with the service?’
As flatly, and evenly as I can, I say, ‘There was no service. So we’re going to another restaurant. Excuse me.’
I turn and head for the door and he shouts, ‘Good, get the f— out of my restaurant, you little s—.’
Now, I may be young at this point (which is likely why the employees of this restaurant thought they could get away with this), but I’m wearing a tailored suit and leading six very, very well dressed clients around. And my clients may be all women (which I think was also why they ignored us), but they’re clients with accents and clothing that’s expensive even by Vegas standards. We are obviously here for a convention…one happening in his building…and we’re obviously here to spend money.
So I stop, and turn to look at this guy fuming at me. I smile, pull out my cellphone, and call our booking agent back at the office.
‘Hi, Alice? Yeah, this is [Name]. I need a favor: Can you to pull us, the client, everyone out of the hotel? Yup, everyone. I’m really sorry to do this to you, but I need it now. Yup, all 300 blocks. This is Vegas, I’m sure there are vacancies elsewhere and they’ll be happy to take us.’
The manager’s face drops and goes white as a sheet. He starts stammering and sputtering. I thank my agent and close my phone with a satisfying snap.
I then walk out, while he’s following me down the hallway, shouting for me to come back. This has all been a terrible misunderstanding and we can work this out. He’ll even pay for the first round of drinks if we all come back and sit down.
The clients get to watch me walk back, like I’m the hero not looking at the explosion behind him…and I go from being the guy who couldn’t get bread delivered to the table, to the guy who brought a manager groveling after him.
We paid extra to have the second hotel staff come in and pick up all our bags in person from the first. I tipped them well for the spectacle.
It was f—ing worth every dollar.”
When Loyalty Goes Too Far
“I dated a girl who worked at a local sit down restaurant in the area. Her best friend was a waitress there as well. The girl and I had a nasty split after about a year or so, but I thought everything was fine. One day, a couple of months later, my family and I go back to that restaurant.
Our waitress is my ex’s best friend. We recognize each other, exchange pleasantries and go about ordering our food. Everything seems fine, but the girl just did a poor job of waiting on the table. She rarely checked on the table, never filled drinks, some food came out wrong, all in all a pretty rough night. But then came dessert. We ordered a bag of doughnuts that come with the cream on the side to dip them in. The doughnuts arrived, but with no cream.
We asked for the cream and she brought it out. My sister took a doughnut, dipped it in and took a bite, and burst into tears. My Mom, wondering why, did the same and almost threw up. Of course I tried it next.
What should have been a vanilla icing tasted more like spoiled mayonnaise, ranch and paprika mixed into a paste. It was horrendous. Needless to say, when the manager passed by our table and asked how our meal was, we held no punches. The manager even tried it and his exact words, with a puzzled look on his face, were, ‘You’re right, that’s not icing.’ He had a word with that server after, and while I didn’t want anyone fired, I think that’s what ended up happening.”
IHOP Is Ruthless
“I was at an IHOP with my then fiancée having our usual Saturday IHOP treat meal. This location was always one of the better ones in terms of food quality and service, so we always went there.
That particular day was different however…very different. We had ordered our regular meals ( blueberry topped, stuffed crepes for me, and a bacon and ham scrambler for her), and shot the s— for a bit while waiting. Everything was great so far, then the food came.
My crepes were cooked badly and cold, her scrambler is not the right one and also cold. We complained (politely mind you, we liked this place after all) and wrote it off as a new cook. When the food comes out, I notice right away that my blueberries are missing and the food is cold again.
We tell the waitress who gets the manager, who apologizes profusely and goes into the kitchen. We were seated in such a way that we saw the cook when the manager opened the door, and I noticed two things right away.
1) The cook is indeed new.
2) The cook clearly has a learning disability.
The manager comes back to us and explains that the cook used to be the dishwasher, but was shadowing one of the regular cooks and trying his best. The regular cook had called in sick that day, leaving the special cook to fend for himself. The manager comped us and said that he tried to help, but was too busy to constantly be back there. Then this happened.
The manager had one of the wait staff step in to cook while he BROUGHT THE DISABLED GUY TO OUR TABLE and had him tearfully apologize to us. That caused the manager to tear up, as well as my SO. Then the manager FIRED THE GUY IN FRONT OF US! We, of course, left pronto.”
“There’s a sushi restaurant at a certain major train station in Japan which I’ve been to at least 50 times. Two of those times, I’ve seen a cockroach running across the counter. That’s not good, but not as shocking as it might sound, as the front door opens right onto the street, and anyone who’s lived in Japan knows, even the most meticulously clean environment can get a cockroach wandering in from time to time.
On the occasion in question, I spotted the little guy running towards me, about a meter away. Nobody else seemed to see him. I grabbed an empty tea cup and dropped it over him like a cage. I’m not the type of person to make a scene; I finished my sushi and asked for the bill. The waitress brought it to me while carrying a tray of miso soups. I whispered to her, ‘Watch out, there’s a small cockroach under that tea cup,’ and indicated the one I was talking about. She apologized profusely and I started to leave. What she did next is a bit hard to understand. She didn’t serve the miso soups that were on their way somewhere. She didn’t clear my plates. She didn’t call anyone for help. She went straight to the cup. She clearly understood my Japanese because she stood way back from it and tapped it a couple of times while wincing. Then she picked up the cup. The bug happily scampered out.
She f—ing lost it. Miso soup everywhere (mostly on the wall, but some on her, probably some droplets on some customers), pointing at the bug and screaming/crying. Everyone in the restaurant stood up to look at whatever she was pointing at. Then she looked back at me. Everyone in the restaurant looked at me.
Really? Do you think I brought the cockroach in my pocket or something?
What did she think was going to happen when she lifted up the cup? Why did she lift the cup if she’s scared of cockroaches? Should I have been more explicit in explaining that the cockroach was still alive?
I got the f— out and didn’t go back for about two years.”
When Your Family Finishes Eating Before You Get Your Food…
“Went to a restaurant with the family. Order a Dagwood Burger, waiter asks me what I want, I repeat my order. He asks me again, I repeat again. Waiter goes around the table and gets everyone’s order. Repeats the order, forgets my burger. So I remind him, he writes it down.
Food arrives, no Dagwood. He looks confused that he missed my order and says he’ll go get it. 10 or so minutes pass, manager comes and asks if our meals are ok. I say I’m still missing my Dagwood. He goes and checks, still no Dagwood ordered by the waiter.
I wait another 10 mins, family nearly done with their food and I’m starving. The manager comes around and says they burned my Dagwood Burger, they’ll need to make it again.
Finally get my burger after my whole family was done eating.”
Giving Them The Star Treatment
“I had a reserved a room at Fawlty Towers in Naples a few years ago. I was there with my girlfriend and our hotel was situated above the restaurant. The first day of my stay there, we decided to have our meal here. I made the mistake of telling the head-waiter that we would stay in the hotel the rest of the week. So every evening when we walked out of our hotel, he asked us if we would dine there again, while we were really more interested in trying out other places. So eventually, I promised him that we would dine there again for the last day of our stay. The waiter then made us a reservation for the best table at the terrace.
That evening, as we went down to the restaurant, we had noticed this table was already occupied. No big deal to us, as there were plenty of other tables available. The head-waiter however, who tried to lure us in all week, immediately panicked when he noticed us. He went berserk at another waiter, who apparently gave the table away, and proceeded to remove the couple who sat at ‘our’ table. We tried to explain this really wasn’t necessary, but he was insistent. So we stood there, really awkwardly, while this other poor couple saw their plates and glasses removed to a table in the back, while gently being pushed to the back of the restaurant as well.
The most ridiculous thing was that the head-waiter dramatically apologized to us, for giving ‘our’ table away. He did this three times, as if he insulted the Roman Emperor himself. At the end of the evening we received a discount. The other couple had been long gone by that time.”
Note To Self: Don’t Try That Burger
“I ordered a cheddar-stuffed cheeseburger for lunch at a sports bar/restaurant in Indianapolis. I was intrigued because I’ve tried fixing this type of burger before, but the cheese always runs out and the whole burger gets ruined.
Burger comes out and the first thing I notice is that it’s shaped more like a meatball than a burger patty. The entire burger was at least 4 or 5″ tall. I take a bite and…no cheese. There’s just this big, hollow, golf-ball size spot in the middle where I assume cheese once resided. Oh well, I figure I still have a burger I can eat, even though it’s not the cheesy meat pinata I’d been hoping for.
I take two more bites and I notice that there are bits of pink meat spread out in weird spots in the meat. Usually, the center or one side will be a little pink, but there were four or five 1cm bits of pink spread out through the whole thing. I have no idea how they accomplished that, unless some of it was frozen.
I ask the waiter what’s going on with this burger and he basically explains that it’s not uncommon for the cheese to run out during cooking. Why would you put an item on the menu that turns out s—ty at least some of the time? Why would you serve it?
I didn’t even eat half of it. The waiter noticed my full plate and comped me for the cost of the burger (but still charged me for my drink and fries).
Completely lost my appetite for the rest of the day. I forced myself to eat a small bag of Doritos for dinner. Twelve hours to the minute after setting that raw hamburger down, I jump out of my hotel bed, run to the bathroom and puke for about 10 minutes straight. I puke so long, blood comes up. Then the other end of the intestinal tract decided it wanted to be purged too. Even more blood.
Yup, food poisoning. Nothing quite compares to being stuck in another city in a s—ty hotel puking up blood and bile, thinking you’re going to die. The conference I had to attend at 8:00 AM was a blast, lemme tell ya. I’m glad no one knew me, because I looked like a hot-mess. I even popped a blood vessel in one of my eyes. That’s the only meal I’ve ever had that ruined 24 hours of my life.”
“I took my husband (then boyfriend) out to dinner one night, my treat. When we sat down, the waitress was overly friendly with him, touching his shoulder, asking him what he wanted to order before me, and giggling at everything he said. In the beginning of the evening, I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I was a server at the time at a different establishment and had seen my coworkers flirt with customers. I figured she probably thought he was paying and assumed she’d get a big tip if she paid more attention to him.
The experience was awful for me, but fantastic for my husband. His food came exactly as he ordered it, his glass was always full, and anything he needed, she immediately went to retrieve from the kitchen. All the while I sat there with an order that was made wrong, my glass empty, and my request of ranch dressing forgotten. This goes without saying that I asked her every time she came to our table for whatever I needed, only for her to neglect fixing or bringing anything. Not only that, but who flirts with someone who is clearly on a date?
I made sure that I kept eye contact with her as I handed her the bill and the exact amount in cash. Her face fell when she realized she had been flirting with the wrong person throughout our meal.
Seriously, a word to all servers- Don’t assume the man is paying, and treat all patrons with the same amount of respect. Not only will you ensure everyone has a good experience, you won’t offend the person paying and only receive $.01 as a tip like this girl did.”
Not Exactly Dinner Conversation
“Eating dinner with a friend at Outback Steakhouse that just happens to be adjacent to a major Sheriff department in Southern CA. A group of cops come in and sit at the table next to us. Fifteen minutes later we’re eating steak and potatoes, and the cops are talking EXTREMELY loud about an incident that had recently happened where one of them was chasing a perp on foot. When he caught the guy, he had to tackle him and in the process, the guys face got split pretty badly. The cop is going into extreme detail about the snot/blood mix that’s gushing from the guys face as the cop is trying to catch his breath. Finally, the overexertion of the cop mixed with the disgusting scene causes him to puke all over the suspects face. He felt it necessary to go into great detail about the vomit, his cronies laughing as loud as they can like complete idiots the entire time.
My friend and I just looked at each other and, without saying a word, simultaneously came to the realization that these guys were the biggest a–holes in the world and asked for the check. As we were leaving, our waitress stopped us near the door and apologized on the officers’ behalf, which leads me to believe that these a–holes are in there constantly being pricks. I hadn’t left her much of a tip (mostly because I was pissed that I just payed for a meal that I wasn’t going to finish because I couldn’t help but picture a criminal covered in blood, snot, and donut sprinkles) but after realizing that she probably doesn’t get tipped well due to this kind of bulls—, we both went back to the table and left her a very nice tip.”
“We were in a restaurant we’ve gone to sporadically over the years. It’s usually reasonably good.
We’re seated and our drink order is taken. I mention to the waitress that there’s no silverware on the table, and she says, ‘Oh, no problem, I’ll be right back.’ She shows back up 10 minutes later to take our dinner order. We order, and I again mention the lack of silverware. ‘Oh, right, hang on.’
We don’t see her again for 30 minutes. Drinks are empty, no silverware, nothing. Can’t even find her in the restaurant.
After 30 minutes, she shows up again with our meals, both pasta dishes. She sets them down, and I again mention that we have no silverware, and can’t eat our dinner. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, hang on.’
She disappears again. There’s something horrible about being very hungry and staring at your meal while being unable to eat it. Stomach’s rumbling, you’re salivating, you’re so d— ready to dig in…but you can’t.
After staring at our dinner for at least five minutes, I get up, go to the setup table and grab two full sets of silverware and napkins, and return to the table. We eat, waitress is MIA.
Twenty minutes after we’ve finished our meals, still no waitress. I get up and ask to see the manager. I tell her what happened and she accuses me of trying to steal the silverware. Blew my mind.
Suffice it to say, we’ve never gone back and have dissuaded lots of people from eating there.”
“Ordering sides at a steakhouse–
Waitress: ‘Baked potato or fries?’
Me: ‘Fries please.’
Waitress: ‘Ok, I’ll repeat your order.’ — Reads correct order from notepad
Steak arrives with…a baked potato.
Me: ‘Excuse me, I ordered fries.’
Waitress: Look of disgust/astonishment ‘No you did not!’
Me: ‘Yes, I did.’
Waitress: ‘Fine!!’ Proceeds to grab the baked potato with her bare hands off my plate and take it back to the kitchen.”
What A Way To Spend Mother’s Day
“My Mom and I went out for Mother’s Day lunch a few years back and our waiter was a complete, inattentive b—-. She forgot our drinks twice and got pissed when we asked about them, made snide remarks when I ordered my entree without mushrooms, and when we finally got our food, mine was overdone instead of the medium I ordered. She all but told me to shut up and eat when I asked for it to be re-done. This was a nice restaurant, mind you, and at the prices we were paying for this visit, I was beyond pissed. We talked to a manager and he took off 50% our check.
This seemed to royally piss the waitress off. So after paying and walking halfway out the door, she yells after us that we forgot to tip her. I yelled back, ‘No we didn’t.’ She told us to f— off and the manager fired her right then and there.”
Snootiness Will Get You Nowhere
“When I was in high school I lived in a tiny rural hamlet. We would go on field trips to the city to watch plays and the ballet and always would stop at a new restaurant before the productions began.
We settled on Earl’s. There were 30 kids and one teacher, we were all well behaved and respectable country kids. We sat at five tables, one a table of ten (my table), and four tables of five. We had all decided before hand to tip our waiter $10 each.
When we asked the waiter before we ordered our food if we could have separate bills between us, he told us that due to the size of our party, he was not willing to do that. We told him that we understood and would sort it out amongst ourselves.
We ordered our food and after it arrived, our waiter was nowhere to be seen, no refills, no checking up on us, but we knew it was busy and didn’t care much, being teenagers and excited to be in the city without our parents.
Without a word, he walked up to our table and dropped a bill in the middle. He did not ask us if we would like anything else our how we enjoyed our meal.
Because of the meals all being on the same ticket we started calculating who owed what. After we figured out the bulk of it, we put the bills to the side and started to deal with the change. There was about $30 worth of change we were counting (This is in Canada, so our $1 and $2 are coins) and the waiter walks by, sees the change and taps me on the shoulder. I look up at him and in the most disgusted voice he says, ‘You kids realize that I put up with you all evening and that (pointing to the money on the table) is NOT 10%.’
I was so shocked and angry, he could not be bothered with us all evening, couldn’t put our food on separate tabs, and so when we are dividing everything up and hadn’t even started getting our tip money out, he was going to approach us like that? Not to mention we were all well behaved and polite. I have no idea what he had to ‘put up with.’ My friend went to speak with our teacher about what just happened and he was livid. He said that the waiter had been rude and absent at their table as well and we had come to find (not surprisingly) that this had repeated itself amongst all the tables. Other tables apparently had it much worse, getting the wrong food and then when they approached the waiter he said no that is what you ordered just be quiet and eat it. My teacher told us not to leave a tip and he would speak with a manager.
Once on our way to the production, our teacher told us he had left a note on the table that said something along the lines of, ‘We do this every month and the kids love to make people happy. Tonight, they were planning on leaving $10 dollars each on a bill of $955.65 (the total for all 5 tables). That is a 31.39% tip. I hope you reflect on your behavior this evening.'”